


Rolling Over

by lovebargain (coyotes)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Collars, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Play, Praise Kink, Service Top Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotes/pseuds/lovebargain
Summary: Gerry whistles abruptly, and Martin jumps from where he’s been hovering uselessly by the front door to find the sound. “Need your help.”Martin steps closer into the kitchen. He still sounds testy. “What?”“You want to find me your collar first?”Edit: Art Update in Chapter 2.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Suspend disbelief and pretend Gerry is human, he's dating Jon and Martin, and they have a house. For my lovely friend Todd. Enjoy the adventures of Martin Blackwoof. <3

_ J: Can you come take the dog out? _

_ G: Yeah, of course. What’s up? _

_ J: He messed up with filing today, or something? I don’t know what it was yet, someone said something to him, but I’m ridiculously busy until I finish this paperwork and… you know how he gets. _

_ G: Pff. Sure. Any dinner requests? _

_ J: Something hands-on, maybe?  _

The front door knocks, and Martin abandons his post at the corner of the couch. The sound holds a familiar weight, heavy and confident, but Martin is too flustered to think much other than  _ ‘oh God, I’m really not ready to speak to another human being right now, please don't be important'. _ Jon is in the master bedroom, presumably still deep in his ritual of scrawling out the day’s work in his notes, so Martin just  _ has _ to be the one to get it. 

His expression softens up considerably the second he recognizes that it’s  _ Gerry,  _ and he doesn’t have to hide the exhaustion set deep in his face. Gerry knows. Gerry always knows. 

“Um, I didn’t know-- Did you say you were coming over? I would’ve…” His shoulders rise with anxious worry. “I would’ve cleaned up, but I-- I had a  _ really  _ bad day at work, and--” 

“Mhm. I heard.”

Martin stares blankly up at him for all of five seconds before connecting the dots, shooting a glare to the closed bedroom door. 

_ Traitor. _

Not that he can do much about it. He’s too busy stepping out of the way for Gerry to make himself at home. He has a grocery bag rustling in one hand, the plastic grating on Martin’s ears. Bad day, indeed. He always walks into a room like he owns the place, and in a way, maybe he does, pulling what seem to be ingredients out of the bag onto the kitchen counter. 

Opening drawers. 

The fridge. 

Doing things. Doing them  _ right.  _ Not falling all over himself to get what he needs to get done. Not like Martin does. All confident, and collected, and  _ prepared,  _ and--

Gerry whistles abruptly, and Martin jumps from where he’s been hovering uselessly by the front door to find the sound. “Need your help.”

Martin steps closer into the kitchen. He still sounds testy. “What?”

“You want to find me your collar first?”

Embarrassed heat starts to crawl up the back of Martin’s neck. He sits with his mouth slightly open, reluctant only for his own apprehension at letting go of his own worries. Should he allow himself that? That’s always the struggle, really. 

“Hey. Earth to Martin. Are you in there?”

“Oh. Yeah-- Yes, sorry. Just-- Are you sure? W-We didn’t really plan, or, um, I mean, if you--”

“Martin.” The way he says that, commanding but not frightening, makes Martin swallow. “I wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t  _ want _ to.”

Martin deflates.  _ “Yeah. _ I know.” 

There isn’t much argument to be had, after that. Martin wants to let go of the day’s stress, Gerry’s enthusiastically nudging him along towards that, and it’s getting easier every time, to give in to comfort. To let himself be taken care of, and give the reins to someone he trusts.

Once he’s fetched it, Gerry shakes the collar in his hands. It’s just loud enough that Martin’s eyes are already on it before he can force himself not to look. That’s all it takes. Now he wants it. Gerry knows. “Up.”

Martin lifts his head obediently. Gerry is slow with how he loops the collar around his neck, just tight enough to press comfortingly snug against his throat. Bring him down in increments, not sudden moves. His hands linger there even when he’s done with the collar itself, fingers brushing over the intimate space where leather meets skin. 

It’s a charming thing; thick, brown leather to match his hair, a lighter dyed strip over the front where his name is stamped the same earthy tone as the rest of the collar. It sits heavy enough over his throat that he can’t forget it’s there, but Jon would never let him have something that  _ chafes,  _ soft  padding lining the inside. It has a tag, too, vaguely eye-shaped but probably just a misprinted fish, with Jon’s phone number on the back. They thought it was funny. At least it’s better than the rabies tag they had on before that, and Martin  _ does  _ get a not-so-secret kick out of being very clearly owned in that way.

Gerry’s hands rise up, both thumbs pressing against the underside of his jaw on either side. “You ready to help me with dinner?”

Martin nods. “Yeah.” 

“Good. I’d appreciate it." Gerry smiles, and Martin melts. "I need more than two hands.” 

That’s how it starts. It’s something different every time, but the pattern remains the same; something to keep his hands busy and his mind empty outside of the task at hand, something that’s not necessarily easy but  _ methodical  _ to ease him step by step away from what’s upset him. They’ll talk about what actually upset him later, that’s always a given, but by the time they’ve gotten to it he’s separated enough from the event that it’s  _ easy.  _

He adores Gerry. He adores Jon, too, both of them, and he knows Gerry is tricking him into taking care of himself by convincing him it’s for  _ them,  _ but they both know he knows and he just needs an extra push to get there. 

“Can you grab me that spoon?” Gerry asks. 

Martin does. 

“Stir this for me while I wash my hands?” Gerry asks.

Martin does. 

“Mind getting that from the fridge? I forgot to bring it out,” Gerry asks. 

Martin does, and now he’s smiling. 

“What do you think this needs?” Gerry asks, holding a fork out for him to taste.

Martin offers his own recommendations, and Gerry gives a happy  _ ‘Ah!’ _ as he gestures with the fork, like Martin’s done something worth celebrating. It starts to get to him, it really does. He’ll occasionally rest his chin on Martin’s shoulder while he does something for him over the stove, and he’ll tell Martin he’s making it so much easier for him, and soon, Martin is slipping, down deeper and deeper into a clockwork frame of do-this, receive-praise. It’s a remarkably easy way to live. 

He ends up eating enough samples of it throughout the process that he’s not really hungry by the time it’s all ready, and Gerry planned for that. He’s remarkably good at planning these sort of things out, those tiny details that go a long way. He packs up enough for Martin to have later, when he’s inevitably exhausted and starving, and instructs Martin to set up the plates while he texts Jon. 

Martin’s gone mostly quiet, now, comfortably at peace with having successfully made dinner, content to respond with hums and nods of yes or no. That’s a good sign, for him. Gerry can tell very easily whether one kind of nonverbal is better than another. Gerry knows. 

Once a few minutes have passed and Gerry’s had some kind of unknown exchange with Jon on the other end, he takes one plate from Martin and leaves the other up to him.  Martin places Jon’s food on the coffee table at his side of the couch as Gerry sits down on his end, widening his legs in a way that’s not vulgar, just inviting. Martin knows the drill. He sits down on the floor between them, on his knees, facing the TV across from the couch. Gerry puts his plate on the cushion, reaches down to undo his boots, and Martin is patient. 

Once he manages to get them off - they’re so  _ horrifically  _ bulky - he stretches his legs out on either side of Martin with a contented sigh and picks up the remote, leaving it on whatever channel it’s on in favor of touching the back of Martin’s neck to thank him for doing so well. 

Jon finally surfaces from the bedroom, summoned by a combination of hot food, sound from the TV, the promise of good company, and bags under his eyes that say he’s finally finished with his work and is glad for it. One hand stays hidden behind his back as he closes the door. 

“Hi, Jon,” Gerry says evenly, both hands buried in Martin’s hair. 

“Hi, Gerry. How is he?”

_ “Very  _ good.” He scratches at Martin’s scalp for emphasis. Martin tilts into it with a soft sound. 

Jon’s smile turns devious. “Oh, is that so?” 

“Mm.” Gerry leans forward, cheek pressed to the side of Martin’s head so he can speak into his ear. He lowers his voice. “I think he’s got something for you, Martin.” 

Martin keeps himself still, but Gerry can feel him tense up; not a  _ bad  _ thing, purely anticipatory, all the human tension having fallen from between his shoulders over the events of the past hour. He watches Jon with such plain adoration that Gerry can almost feel it through their contact, and when he moves one of his hands to Martin’s shoulder he realizes he’s shaking. Gerry can almost feel him wagging.

Jon bends down in front of them and uses his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair behind Martin’s ear. “I do, if you can be patient while we eat. Can you do that?”

Martin nods enthusiastically. There’s a huff of laughter behind him, but right now he knows that comes from love. He’s not being mocked. Not being made fun of. He just is. Jon points at one of the pillows on the couch for Gerry to grab. “Good. You really tamed him, didn’t you?”

Gerry hands it to him, where it ends up on the carpet next to Martin. “What, are you surprised?”

“Not at all.” He turns his attention back to Martin. The hand behind his back moves forward, and Jon presents a small plush sheep. “Just admiring your work.” 

Martin, unburdened by pesky human rules for behavior, reaches forward to grab it out of Jon’s hand with his teeth. He tilts to one side so he can fall down onto the pillow and lie there, hugging it with both hands while he keeps the toy shoved against his nose right where it is. The subtle texture of beads beneath the soft plush surface of the sheep is such a vivid tactile feeling in his brain, and he knows it even if his mouth’s not on it. He relaxes almost instantly, inhaling deeply around it. It smells like their laundry. It smells like Jon. Like their bed. Like home. 

Jon settles in on the couch after that, offering a hand in his hair as he passes by that has him relaxing even deeper against the pillow and his toy. She has a name, and it is definitely not very creative, since  _ Socks _ is kind of a given with the way her hooves are just a seamless transition from black to white, but he’s never cared about that. She’s old, older than he can remember, lovingly worn out but stitched back together time and time again to keep her whole. 

It keeps him occupied while they talk above him, deciding on some show Martin doesn’t catch and doesn’t pay much attention to, curled up between Gerry’s legs and tuned out of everything. He’s not very aware of what’s going on, but Gerry and Jon still seem glued to the TV regardless. The noise crackles and fades, his sensory focus tilting towards smell and touch than anything else, basking in the warmth and proximity all around him. He’s also determined to be  _ good,  _ still, while it counts, and he holds himself still regardless of how much he desperately wants to wiggle and gain Gerry’s attention. 

Jon and Gerry talk about things. Probably work. Work doesn’t bother him, right now. He doesn’t have to work. He gets to sit here, and enjoy his life, the simplicity of it all, without a worry to his name. Martin, Martin, Martin. They eat, and every once in a while one of them laughs, and the best of times  _ both _ of them laugh. And every time one of them does, Martin sinks his face deeper into the toy, content beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Living on cloud fucking nine. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Gerry’s snapping in his direction. It’s a sharp noise, but not a scary one. He’s so used to being scared. He’s scared of everything. But not right now. Not when he’s safe. Gerry's turned sideways on the couch, legs tucked under each other criss-cross. To fit Martin there.

“Hey.” Gerry pats his thigh. “Come on. Up.” 

Martin doesn’t bother to check for Jon’s approval, since Gerry wouldn’t ask him to do that if he didn’t already have it. Socks is immediately abandoned on the floor. He’s really very good at leaving her behind places, but that’s what Jon is for; to remember where he left her and bring her back. Martin carefully climbs up onto the couch between them, trying not to jostle Jon where he sits, but not hyper aware of his size like he normally is. He twists around to face Gerry, clearly hamming it up with the way he settles in longways across the couch. 

It pays off, and not after very long, either. Gerry’s fingers twitch against his side through his shirt, and Martin twitches, but otherwise stays still. He’s rewarded by those same fingers dragging along the hem of his shirt and pushing up. Martin whines, and Gerry shushes him, scratching fingers lightly over his stomach. The TV drones on. Martin watches it for all the movement, but he’s focused physically on Gerry’s hand. On the good kind of goosebumps rising across his kin. 

His legs end up over Jon’s lap, and he’s distantly aware of Jon’s thumb rubbing absent-minded circles over one of his ankles, but he’s far more focused on the way Gerry’s hand digs into his side and drifts toward his navel. His own movements are far more involuntary, increasingly twitchy motions to catch whatever feeling he can, to deepen the contact. Gerry pets him like that for a while, until Martin’s eyelids go droopy and he starts to doze off around an endless feedback loop of bliss.

Until his hand climbs up high enough to catch one of his nipples, and Martin huffs loud enough to get Jon raising an eyebrow in his direction. His hand finds the closest thing to squeeze, Gerry’s knee, and stays there. 

“That feel good?” Gerry hums smugly, repeating the gesture with more purpose. He skates a few of his fingernails over the same nipple on his way back down just to watch Martin squirm helplessly. “Hm?” 

Martin exhales softly, apparently  _ surprised  _ at the sudden development that his body seems to have known about  _ way  _ before he did, oversensitive and trying to sit still while Gerry rubs his hand over his stomach. When he dips lower, just barely below his navel, Martin almost kicks at Jon. Seems that was on purpose, on Gerry’s part, because now he’s sending a bright grin in Jon’s direction.

“I think you’re ready for bed,” Jon says pointedly, not displeased, just with his own separate plans for how his own night’s going to go. 

“Alright, alright,” Gerry chuckles, patting Martin’s stomach. “Up you go. Bed.” 

Martin gets up, wobbly and properly mussed up in every sense of the word, and does as he’s told, sparing nothing but a shy smile at Jon that doesn’t say he’s sorry, but that he’s very much in love. He knows the drill by now. It’s just another set of steps he can very easily follow. 

Before he goes after Martin, Gerry stands, bending to rest one hand down on Jon’s knee and press a parting kiss to his cheek. “Planning on staying up for a while?” 

Jon nods. “Mm. I’d like to get  _ some  _ reading for pleasure in after the hell that today’s been.” His eyes squint around a subtle smile. “Have fun.” 

“Oh, will do.”

Gerry picks up both the plates and leaves them behind on the kitchen counter, out of Jon’s way. Jon ate more than he usually does, and he won’t comment, but Gerry still smiles at that. Seems they’re all doing better. He’ll handle the dishes later. 

The sight that greets him in the bedroom isn’t a surprise, but it still is something he likes. Martin sits at the foot of the bed, down on his knees, beaming up at Gerry from the blanket they always keep there like he’s heaven sent. 

It works out for Gerry, too. He’d never been looked at like  _ that  _ before he met Martin. It’s done wonders for his own self-esteem, to be looked at like something precious and not some unfathomable freak of nature. And, God, Martin delivers. 

“Sit down and wait. I need a shower.” 

He presses a kiss to Martin’s forehead with both hands squishing his cheeks, and Martin responds with a soft, approving huff, though it’s obvious by the way he intonates that he’s not happy about having to wait. Still, he has to, because he’s on Gerry’s schedule, not his own. And he’ll be glad for it later. Better to trust Gerry. Gerry knows.

Gerry reaches into the drawers to find an extra towel. He starts to shuck off his shirt and jacket, which he leaves behind at Martin’s side. Martin settles there in a nest of Gerry’s smell, residual warmth from the inside of his jacket (he’s always been such a furnace) and before he knows it his eyes are shut to the sound of water running in the bathroom. 

He opens his eyes at one point just to watch the sliver of light under the door. To tilt his eyes to the other door, where a much dimmer light shines through. Jon on one side, Gerry on the other, and he’s safe, and happy, and not  _ patient,  _ but he can at least pretend to be for Gerry’s sake.

The collar jingles with how quickly he turns his attention to the bathroom door when it opens. Gerry steps out, drying his hair off with a towel. He’s put on boxer briefs and a muscle tee, the kind that shows off more of his tattoos, his ribs, his stomach if he turns to the side. Some band logo sits stamped over the front of it, but Martin isn’t paying attention to that. Gerry smiles at him, and Martin melts. 

“Ready for bed?” Gerry asks, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Martin hops up and immediately tries to topple Gerry over with both arms around his waist, which prompts an entire scuffle that ends with Gerry’s back pressed against the mattress, lit up and laughing as he tries to push Martin away from nuzzling at his neck.  _ “Down,” _ he tries, to no avail, because he’s smiling too much to make it sound like a command and he’s really enjoying himself too much to care. "Get down!" 

Until he remembers that Martin is very, very strong, which is exactly how he got stuck here, and it’s better in the long run to keep him from using that to his  _ advantage.  _ No badly behaved dogs in the house. He might be able to overpower both him and Jon by sheer force of will, but he won’t get rewarded for it.

He grabs the front of Martin’s collar, and to his great surprise, that earns him a throaty growl. That definitely won’t fly. He lets himself shiver, just once, and then he yanks Martin forward, wiping the smug look off his face. He bares his teeth up at him, holding him tightly with his fingers squeezing the leather. “Be  _ good,  _ or you won’t play. _ ”  _

He can tell Martin is thinking about biting him, thinks it might even be  _ funny,  _ but his ego’s not as important as staying on Gerry’s good side. That’s the ultimate goal. He presses his weight over Gerry’s instead, warm and comfortable as he hides his face in the crook of Gerry’s neck. 

“Much better. Roll over. Let me see you.” 

Martin immediately complies, cheeks flushed as Gerry moves to straddle one of his legs, hands sprawling over the expanse of his belly. Martin’s shirt stays on; it’s one of his preferences, always has been, not for any reason but for how safe it makes him feel. He’s never been one to be fully exposed, but that doesn’t mean he’s not happy to be  _ touched  _ everywhere Gerry can possibly reach.

“You’ve been  _ so  _ good tonight,” Gerry starts, and Martin holds his breath. One of his own little games with himself, one he always loses. “I’m proud of you. Been handling all that stress much better lately.” 

There comes the desperate exhale. Gerry runs his fingernails down Martin’s sides, smiling to himself when Martin shifts to find more contact. He keeps both of his hands balled up above his chest and he doesn’t hide his face. That’s one of the best things about Martin, in this space; he knows he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about his reactions. About the way his breath hitches when Gerry’s fingers dip over his navel as they pass. The way his hips shift up instinctually when Gerry deepens the press of fingertips where he’s most sensitive. 

Gerry continues, until every touch has Martin struggling and failing not to push up against him, until his breaths are running hotter and heavier, and the noises he makes get needier, and needier, and needier.

“Someone’s excited,” Gerry says after he’s had his fill toying with him, and now there’s something vaguely  _ evil  _ in his tone, that commanding presence he’s not afraid to dish out. He brings a hand down to Martin’s thigh and slides up, up, until he can cup the telltale bulge at the front of his boxers. Martin’s hips twitch against his palm, and Gerry squeezes. “Mind your manners.” 

Martin stills, biting down on his lip to stop the whimper. “Good boy,” Gerry purrs, and that almost has him making the same mistake  _ again,  _ but he’s good, he’s so very good, thighs quivering with want as he does the only thing he’s allowed to do; spread his legs wider. Gerry braces one hand on the bed by Martin’s head, the other palming down on his erection, so he can lean forward close to his face. 

“Do you want to take care of me tonight? Would that make you happy?” 

Martin nods, tilting his head to the side so he can brush his lips over Gerry’s wrist. He says the first word he’s said in a while. It rolls easily and comfortably in his mouth, every part of him pinpoint focused on the idea.  _ “Yeah.”  _

“Mm, I thought so.” He starts to work his hand up and down, tracing the line of Martin’s cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. “Got myself ready in the shower for you, just in case. So good to me, aren’t you?” 

Martin still gives it his all, to let Gerry work him up so he doesn’t take the chance to do it himself. Like this, without direction he’ll get there quick and dry, and it won’t be as fun, and he’s trying desperately not to hump Gerry’s hand and stay put because he knows that, somewhere in that empty head of his. 

Gerry doesn’t tease much longer. Tells him to sit up, and get back, and take off his boxers, and  _ wait  _ while he gets them organized and situated. Gerry shucks off his clothes, and he gets down onto his hands and knees on the bed, a pillow tucked under his chest to keep him from bowing too far. Martin waits, nearly  _ vibrating _ with anticipation. Waiting for permission. 

“Come here, big guy.” 

Martin doesn’t have to be told twice, moving forward until he feels good about the position, appreciating him just long enough to press a kiss to the small of Gerry’s back. Gerry smiles privately to himself, thoughts of  _ tamed  _ coming readily to mind, but then he shifts his hips to get Martin’s attention off looking at him like he’s the best thing in the world, to get on with it. 

He lines himself up, just enough that he can go hands-off with it, knowing Gerry well enough that he’s about to be tortured, because he’s not eagerly nudging him along, and that means he has to go  _ slow.  _ Martin hates this game. 

“Ah, wait.” Gerry says, yep, there it is, and Martin stops pushing in, fingers tight against Gerry’s thighs as a whimper passes through him. He wants to go more, go faster, now.  _ “Wait.”  _

He can feel Martin’s cock twitch inside him, as needy and aching as he is, and Martin can’t help it; he pushes forward. His only saving grace is he at least has the decency to whine about it, apologizing in the form of a nuzzle to the back of Gerry’s neck when Gerry inevitably gasps. “ _ Fuck.”  _ He turns it into a steady growl. “Bad.” 

But he can only torture them both for so long. He gives him another chance. “Go  _ slow.”  _ Martin holds his composure, smoothly moving forward until he’s flush with Gerry, buried to the hilt. “There you go.” 

Martin, darling that he is, still takes the next few pushes and pulls carefully. He’s slow, checking to make sure he’s not hurting Gerry, that he’s still comfortable, before working himself up faster, and harder. He’s excited, so it only makes sense he lacks the  _ precision  _ he otherwise has when he’s not in this space, but it’s charming how easy it is to get him beyond thought. 

He fucks deep into Gerry, bent over to bite at his neck while his fingers dig into his thighs, pushing Gerry deeper into the mattress with every thrust. He’s spurred on by every noise that falls from Gerry’s mouth, hot breaths to the pillow beneath him, legs spread at the knee to accommodate, harder and rougher in the way Gerry  _ loves.  _ Wrecked and forceful that he knows he’ll be sore tomorrow, and he’ll get to tell Martin how great of a job he did, and get to watch him bluster through his shyness at having abandoned any hesitance to fuck him so thoroughly. 

At least, in this state his tells are obvious. Martin’s started to forget to control his hard he bites down, teeth sinking into Gerry’s shoulder, his thrusts going uneven and hurried.

“Don’t cum,” Gerry warns between sharp breaths, even as Martin picks up the pace, whining desperately as he holds Gerry tightly, arms moving to wrap around his waist to keep him from going anywhere. Not that he’s planning on it.  _ Clingy. _ “Not yet. You can wait.”

Martin whines miserably. 

“No, I know you can.” Gerry moves a hand between his own legs to get a hand around himself, stroking to Martin’s half-controlled rhythm. “Good boy,  _ good boy.  _ Wait just one more minute. So good. _ ”  _

Martin inhales, and then pulls off Gerry’s shoulder to lick at the wound he’s left behind and try to gain his favor. Not bleeding,  _ good boy,  _ but it’ll hurt, and Gerry groans as Martin starts to get frantic, trying so, so hard to follow directions while clearly being right on the verge of failing completely. The tag on his collar rings out with every forward motion, and they both like that sound. 

Gerry won’t give him the chance. No punishment tonight. “Mm. Okay, okay, you can cum, good-- God, Martin, come on.” 

It isn’t instantaneous, but it doesn’t take much longer, Martin whining as his forehead hits the back of Gerry’s neck and he pumps into him once, twice, and then settles deeply to the hilt, thighs shaking as warmth starts to pool deep, deep inside of his favorite person to fuck. He makes the cutest, softest sound the moment he actually cums, a tiny ah-- _ ah-- _ that usually ends with a  _ thank you  _ on his more coherent days. Gerry knows the drill by now, and knows he’ll stay there until Gerry tells him to pull out, content and sated and nestled deep where Gerry’s warmth is the only thing to exist.

Gerry works himself to his own climax, into his own hand, sighing happily at the relief that comes with that fucked-out satisfaction he can’t ever manage to make happen on his own. Martin holds them both still, panting and exhausted above him. He holds Gerry tighter, occasionally giving another soft thrust forward to chase the feeling, sending a feedback loop of aftershocks that make them both gasp. 

Once he’s caught his breath, he reaches out to tap Martin’s thigh. Martin huffs indignantly at him. 

“Oh, you want to stay here a minute?” He chuckles, reaching up to pet at Martin’s face with one hand. Martin tilts his head so his mouth and nose settle against Gerry’s palm, so he can nod, eventually lick him once, soft and tired and about five minutes away from becoming an inescapable, cuddling mess. “You did such a good job. Proud of you. I think I can get Jon to join us before two in the morning, with how good you’ve been." He tries to scratch at Martin's scalp, a little awkward at the angle. "Want to be in the middle tonight? That sound good?” 

Martin holds him tighter and nods, just to squeeze his appreciation out. 


	2. Art Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by the lovely [dayvan!](https://todd.yiff.lol/) WUV U... <3

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190263386@N04/50402670248/in/dateposted-public/)


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